Friday August 17th 2001I leave tomorrow for Pakistan. On purpose, I have waited until now to begin to read in depth about what is happening there and in neighboring Afghanistan where people are fleeing for their lives. It is a shame how for a time I can so easily shut out the world's problems when I am safe at home. I notice some articles in the newspapers I read, but they are usually focused on current emergency situations. They don't present a story so many years old. Perhaps to them it seems hopeless, and even worse, not urgent. It is not newsworthy. Old stories become facts of life. They become accepted situations. Some people in some countries will simply live with and die from some horrible situation. I read how almost two million people are in Pakistan living as refugees. They live along the borders. They live with nothing. I read about a German based relief organization that had twenty four of its workers arrested by the Taliban. Their office was closed. They were there to help the refugees, but they were accused of propagating Christianity. "The Taliban, who rule 95 percent of Afghanistan, is a religious militia that espouses a harsh brand of fundamentalist Islam. It is a crime punishable by death to propagate any religion other than Islam or to convert a Muslim to another religion. Foreigners are sometimes expelled from the country." [Copyright 2001 Associated Press.] The fate of the twenty four people, eight of whom are foreigners, is still unknown. I hope by the time someone reads this the outcome has not been their death. " Eight foreign aid workers held captive for three months were freed from a squalid Afghan prison during an anti-Taliban uprising and airlifted to safety Thursday by U.S. military helicopters. Also, 16 Afghan employees of Shelter Now International, who were detained along with the foreigners, were freed when the northern alliance forces entered Kabul on Tuesday, said U.N. officials in Islamabad. " Associated Press, "Freed Aid Workers Lifted to Safety," [By Christopher Torchia, November 15, 2001.] This will be the first trip I am allowing a camera with me. As uncomfortable about that as I am, I know what I have seen before on these missions, and my pen falls short. I can't tell people what it is like to sit with wounded men and abandoned women and children all hungry and desperately trying to survive, holding onto what is left of their dignity, their self-worth, their hope. They are the people you cry for and the people who give you strength. They understand something about life that many of us (thank God) never will, and they focus on many things we have forgotten. They know what to be grateful for. They appreciate the importance of family and community. They understand the power of faith and love. I just started to read more facts. I don't know what to write or what I feel. I think I can't believe what I am reading. I don't understand how these things are possible today. "The Taliban forbid most forms of light entertainment and requires the faithful to strictly adhere to the Islamic holy book, the Koran. Women are required to wear the all-encompassing burquah. They are not allowed to mingle with men, work, or attend school beyond the age of eight." [Copyright 2001 Associated Press] TRAVEL WARNING (Issued May 14, 2001): The Department of State warns U.S. citizens to evaluate carefully the implications for their security and safety before deciding to travel to Pakistan. Given the presence of international terrorist Osama Bin Ladin in neighboring Afghanistan, the public sympathy and support for him in Pakistan, and the presence of indigenous terrorist groups in Pakistan, the Department urges all American citizens resident in, or traveling through, Pakistan to take appropriate steps to maintain their security awareness. Events in the Middle East have increased the possibility of violence. Women do not walk out alone, and it is not wise to travel in the streets late at night. Kashmir: Military operations continue along the Line of Control in Kashmir and military exchanges between Pakistani and Indian forces often result in deaths and injuries on both sides. An American and other Westerners were kidnapped in Indian-controlled Kashmir in 1995 and have never been found. Saturday August 18th 2001 * 8:40 PM leave for London (10 hours) * 2 hour layover * then 8 and a half hours to Islamabad Monday August 20th 2001 As we began our descent into Islamabad, we heard over the speaker, "Take your anti-malaria pills. Aerial photography of Pakistan is not allowed. Bringing in alcohol is prohibited." 4:32 AM arrived in Islamabad, Pakistan I met Yusuf Hassan at the gate, a UNHCR officer. He is from Kenya. I am told, "Men will not shake a woman's hand. It is best not to make eye contact with men. Cover your head with a shawl. We will be shopping for appropriate clothing for you. A plain dressed armed official will always be with us." Why am I here? * to better understand * to then help bring awareness I am told UNHCR in Afghanistan is not allowed to have women employed and men are allowed only very little contact with women - so to help is very difficult. I am now guarded and veiled, surrounded and attended to politely. I already feel a little uncomfortable, beginning to feel like a princess under guard. I am used to such independence and freedom. UNHCR OFFICE ISLAMABAD Everyone at the UNHCR office is kind and welcoming. This office was once a warehouse. There are so many filing cabinets filled with records of the refugees. At this time, Pakistan hosts over 2 million Afghan refugees. I am told what must be remembered is "there is no peace in sight." Many of these refugees have been here for twenty-two years, since Russia invaded Afghanistan in 1979. Toward the back of the office/warehouse are barbed wire fences. Very few people are allowed in. I see rows of quiet women waiting. The men are yelling. I caught the eyes of a man. He looked angry. I am told there have been times the angry, frustrated refugees have broken in. The UNHCR officers can only complete about twenty interviews a day. It seems so little when you think about the 2.3 million refugees here in this country, but helping to save twenty families each day is a great accomplishment. Being registered is the first step towards a chance for a better life and for someone to hear their story. 10 AM I am being driven to the market to buy the rest of the appropriate clothing I must wear while I am here. One of the jobs refugee children have here, and all around the world, is to collect trash to try to find usable things. About half the people in Pakistan go to bed hungry. We stopped at a red light. A boy of about six years old knocks on my window. He shows me his amputated arm. I have been told not to give money to those who beg. If possible, give food instead. Many children are being sent out by their parents to beg. This child looks in my eyes. He is just a little boy. I pass him something through the window. At the next light, an older man on crutches approaches our car. It is so hot and crowded. I don't know how people work outside all day here, and they all seem to work very hard. In this intense heat, it is hard for me to imagine being without water, but with the drought here and in neighboring areas the last four years, many people have had little or no access to water. Pakistan has a very decorative culture. The buses are amazing with elaborate, colorful details. Paintings and metal sculptures are attached. The clothes are more colorful than I had imagined they would be, still, they are modest in how much they cover. SHOE SHOP The shoes are hand-crafted, I am still not sure if there is a left and a right. Some shoes look like they are right out of "Aladdin." Gold and silver toes point up. I shower and try to nap. - but I can't sleep. I try to call home. No one is there. No country in the world wants to give Afghanistan help because of the Taliban, and it is hard to get goods past the Taliban to the innocent who are in such desperate need. Outside from the need for food and water, there are also landmines that need to be destroyed. So many innocent people are suffering. I met with Abbas Sarfraz Khan, the minister responsible for refugee affairs. I didn't know where to sit; do I cover my head or not? I have heard he is westernized. He attended college in Boston. He has also lived in London. He offered me a drink. I said, "No, thank you." Monserrat(a UNHCR staff member) whispered to me, "Order something - green tea." The minister spoke of: * the generations with no education * the lack of awareness in the West * donor fatigue. Upon leaving I was relieved when he reached his hand out to shake mine. I wasn't sure if that was okay. As an American, I feel I was not raised to seriously think outside our own country - to appreciate and to learn about other cultures. America is not alone in this - many countries do not focus their students or people on other cultures. 12:30 PM We are on our way to visit a shelter for Pakistani and Afghan women. It is also used as a place where they can go to get counseling against domestic violence. The tents are just sticks with sheets over them. Occasional areas are used for all the poor - not just the refugees. At the shelter I was brought into a room full of women who all had their heads covered and their shoes off. SACH means truth in Urdu. We visit SACH, a woman's group whose purpose is struggle for change. So far 100 women have been training with SACH. One hundred have started small businesses in the Sunday markets. I asked the Afghan women, "Would you want to be resettled back in Afghanistan?" One woman's response was, "We want to be where we can be safe and free. You tell us." Another woman hands me a photo. "This is my son who the Taliban killed." A woman with a shaky voice and tearful eyes moves forward. Her name is kept private as promised. She fears for her safety. Her brother is disabled and can no longer work for his family because of the severe beating he received from the Taliban. Another woman showed me a paper that was explained to me as a demand for four guns. This was a tax she had to pay to support the war effort. She sold all she had to give to the Taliban, but it was still not enough to buy the four guns. A woman who was a doctor said one night the Taliban came to her house. She escaped to the neighbors, but her father was arrested and jailed. She is alone. She does not know if her father is still alive. She has also converted to Christianity which gives her more reason to be scared of the Taliban. If they found out she would be condemned to death. She is still being hunted. She has to move often so they cannot find her. Even though she is in Pakistan, she is still in danger of being killed. I hear a UNHCR staff member wants to know why she has not come to the UNHCR office. They desperately want her to get in touch. A man is welcomed into the room. He wants to share. He had brought his wife and children to this center because they were malnourished. The man also seemed very shaky as he spoke. He had sweet eyes. Sadly, they were bright yellow. He was badly beaten by the Taliban. His legs are partially numb and his kidneys are severely damaged. "Urban Refugees" We take a drive to a slum area near a bus terminal and a fruit market. The poor people live here so they can live off the thrown away - mostly rotten - food. This is a very sad area, that includes much commercial sexual exploitation of children. I have been told the children sell their bodies for the equivalent of five cents. SACH is working here to help the children. Many of them are as young as six years old. They are taken into the sex trade and other abusive situations. There are more programs here trying to teach children's rights. A woman tells me many mothers have six to twelve children who work in the sex trade. These parents are desperate. These children have no school, no childhood, no protection. I went for a walk. There are dirt paths between some little mud houses. I saw a little girl around four years old carrying a large pile of wood on her head. They have no chance for a childhood. It's not fair. So many other little girls are carrying their baby brothers and sisters on their hips. I notice a few of these girls have obvious skin diseases. I pass a school room with no lights. There is no electricity anywhere in this mud village. With regards to HIV/AIDS activities for Afghan refugees in Pakistan, UNHCR is doing the following: * Training of supervising staff, master trainers and health service providers at the Basic Health Unit (BHU) level * Training of community health workers to create awareness within the community * Health education at BHU and outreach activities * Safe disposal of BHU and labour room waste * Infection prevention by adopting chlorine sterilization techniques at BHUs and in the hospitals * Condom promotion and distribution * UNHCR is in the process of strengthening implementing partners' services for STD awareness and treatment No one is allowed to even talk about AIDS here. AIDS is taboo. Different organizations are trying to introduce AIDS awareness and sex education. SACH Rehabilitation and Training Center This is where women come who will be resettled. Someone says there are the lucky ones. They have been chosen because of their serious sexual abuse and having no husbands. They receive 24 hour medical coverage. The center is secured by Brinks Security. The women running this program are very strong. Stones were thrown at them when they proposed to build a school. The rooms are very small. In one little bed there can be two or three small children with their mother. One woman I met is receiving psychiatric help. She was raped and beaten bloody by the Taliban. She can't remember too much. She has three children. I notice a poster on the wall referring to the sex trafficking of missing women and children. 74 MILLION WOMEN MISSING IN SOUTH ASIA
India - Pakistan - The Philippines Another poster from a Cambodian sister organization reads WOMEN DON'T BELONG IN CAGES
80% of imprisoned women are inside for poverty related offenses. 90% of aboriginal and 82% of all women in prison are survivors of incest, rape, or physical assault. This is written on the board. "If we all do a little We can do a lot." A few of these families will be resettled in the United States, but we have to bring their expectations down before they start their new life. I look at the little kids' faces. Will they be welcomed? Called names? If you or I saw them next month on a U.S. street would we even try to imagine or understand what they might have been through? 7 PM (19:00) We had dinner at Monserrat's home. There were about fifteen people from UNHCR, the American Embassy, the ministry of Pakistan, and a woman from the BBC. It always continues to amaze me when I sit in on a dinner like this. It is always inspiring. All everyone speaks of all night long are global issues, humanitarian needs, etc. They share their information, discuss solutions, and plan on ways to work together. These people are from all different parts of the world - brought together by a shared desire to help people in need - to help end suffering. There were heavy moments and moments of laughter. Sometimes I get scared when everyone talks politics, but I didn't this time. What I learned tonight was that the observations and feelings of an individual who is trying to understand is just as important. I also realized when talking that I have learned more than I thought. To make sense of it all - no one can. * that some people are not treated as equal. * that people go to bed hungry * that millions of people are experiencing persecution, human rights violations, and conflict. No one can make sense of it because it makes no sense. 
Tuesday August 21st 20016 AM on the road to Jalozai I am told I may run into an American delegation. I asked why they would be there - to help see for themselves in order to make decisions about what needs to be done or what can continue. I am also told it is most likely about whether to allow more people to be resettled in the United States. Today they allow 1000 per year to resettle. They could at least double that - at least that is the hope. I know probably many people in my country feel 1000 is too high - even if it is nothing when considering the millions of risks. What is the answer? Where do these people belong? The answer always is to have peace in the home - in their country of origin. Sometimes it seems impossible. Pakistan and Iran are very poor countries where millions of refugees have been living for twenty years. It is explained to me that two things are necessary to help more people. 1. the numbers allowed in host countries 2. the staff's ability to process and handle twice the caseload (needing funding, assistance, and manpower.) Outside the window I see mosques (Muslim temples). They stand out amidst the rubble, makeshift tents, and mud buildings. The buffalo and cows on the side of the road are fat in comparison to those in other countries I have seen. Painted buses move through the streets. The dress uniform on men and women is different than I had imagined. There is something elegant about them. Some have very vibrant colors with small mirrors and embroidery sewn on them. Some, however, seem like uniforms. The roads are smooth. I am told the infrastructure is good. We drive beside horse drawn carts. The horses seem little and skinny. It makes me wonder if animal rights activists were here would they be upset? - probably just sad. It's strange how sometimes it seems some people care more for their animals than the poor family next door. As I write this I am sitting alone in the car. Others are behind in the second UNHCR truck. The police pulled us over and said we were speeding, but there are no speed limit signs, and all the cars that continue to pass us are going so much faster. Here, the police don't pull up behind you. They stand at the side of the road and stick out a stop sign. I didn't want to write while they were talking to the drivers outside the car. The other policemen were watching us. I'm not sure what they wanted. To scare us? Or try to get money? There was a lot of heavy talk and it seems nothing was accomplished. Twenty minutes later we were on the road again. As we get closer to the Shamshatoo refugee camp, many Afghan women are completely covered with only little holes around their eyes to look out. We stop at a little market in "little Kabul" (a slice of Afghanistan). Enterprising people have been here trading for twenty years. There is something magical about these people. It also seems like I have gone back in time. It feels like Biblical times only with dusty piles of glass bottles and trucks with modern wheels and horns. Jalozai Camp Site Briefing UNHCR set up and funded this camp. MSF (Medicins Sans Fronti res - Doctors without borders) is here to provide healthcare. CRS (Catholic Relief Services) A non-government organization is also here helping providing health services and sanitation facilities(over 1000 dry pit latrines). They also distribute blankets, quilts, and mattresses to the refugees. There are two main reasons for Afghans fleeing: # In Northern Afghanistan, there is fighting between the Taliban and the Northern Alliance. # The Three Year Drought We drive through the camp to a point inside where we will get out and hopefully talk with people. We pass by a few little boys. They smile and wave at our trucks. They all recognize the UN by now. (They have been present here over twenty years). Many women are completely covered. They can see you. You can't see them. Even little girls are covered up. All except for their eyes. It makes me immediately focus my attention to their gaze. Most of them seem curious, but others just stare. I feel intimidated by these people - even the children. They are strong-minded survivors with a strong faith. We pass the little mud houses which appear to be ten to fifteen years old. Suddenly there is a sea of tents(ranging from fabric to canvas to plastic). I think of gypsies. This whole area is extremely hot and very dusty. There is very little shelter from the sun. Water trucks have had to be brought in. WHO (World Health Organization) is here to help. On July 18th there were many deaths because of heat (52 degrees Celsius) and dehydration. A little boy in line had purple spots and scabs on his face. It is polio immunization day. Many children are waiting in tents. Along the sidewall of a big tent - old army cots are covered with flies. In this area the local clinics do not have very much. They do not have the ability to take on any serious medical needs. The health center is open 24 hours a day. "Water supplies have gotten better. There has been less diarrhea and dysentery. There is also TB control. But even when something seems to be under control - there are constant new arrivals." There was a deforming condition called Leshmaniasis. They got medicine from Geneva. The health clinic has been at the camp for nine months, but only last month is when they received a generator. Forms of birth control(Family Planning) have been introduced. Birth control is almost impossible in urban areas. So, it is amazing that they are breaking through to the people in the camp. I met a child whose mother told me he was four years old, but he looked to be the size of an infant. Looking at his face I can see he is a boy. His facial features are not of a baby. He became this way because of years of malnutrition. The clinic here has him on a program. I look around and see so many children who need to be monitored. An hour later, I am back in the car. The same people who gathered around us as we walked the camps are now watching us leave. There are so many sick children. As we are leaving, I see a little boy about five years old who has abscesses on his face - four of them the size of golf balls. A doctor, who was going to travel with us to the next area, is now staying here to operate immediately on him. No permanent structures are allowed here by the government. They say they are fed up with all the burden sharing. I visit a school. Kids are shouting the alphabet. They are all boys. Girls are on different mats than the boys. Girls are shouting numbers. Many young children are coughing. I notice many have heat rashes. I met one little girl in an old pink faded torn dress. Her words were interpreted for me to help me understand her. She talked with the wisdom of a forty year old woman. "They bombarded my house. They attacked my house with guns and bombs. They cut off my uncle's legs and killed two of my cousins." I am guessing the Taliban, but I don't ask. Instead, I ask what she wants. What are her needs? "I want peace. I want to go back to Afghanistan. I want to go home." I ask how long has she been here. "Nine months living under plastic." I was taken to the screening center for registration. I saw many children laying on the ground trying to find shade. Men in berets with large rifles guarded the area. We are in a frontier province just across the Afghan/Pakistani border. I met a very nice Irish lady, a lawyer for the refugees working with UNHCR. A woman was brought in during our briefing. She lost her identification slip. Her only ID was a food card. She had no family. I was told UNHCR will try to get other information to help her to replace the identification card. Registration is now onto the third week. It is a very organized program. They have managed to screen over 7,000 families, a total of about 42,000 people. All refugees are asked if they would like the option to repatriate. If they do, they will get assistance back to Afghanistan as well as a package of 150 kilos of wheat and also money in equivalent of about $90.00. Still, I don't understand the option of repatriation, when there is fear of the Taliban - fighting in the North - and the ground covered with landmines. Afghanistan is one of the top two most mine covered countries in the world. I am now in a room where a woman is being interviewed. She desperately wants to go back to Afghanistan where her relatives have chosen to return. She knows it is a war zone, and still she says, "What will I do here by myself?" She has her veil lifted. I wonder if it is okay because she is in the company of women. Of the 7,000 families screened over the past three weeks, only six families have chosen to return to Afghanistan. New arrivals are screened in daily. If they are recognized as refugees they will be sent to the next camp. This camp, the Shamshatoo refugee camp, was established in 1998. This particular camp started with 300 families - now there are 3,000 families living here. On our way out, officers were approached by an unaccompanied child. He was about ten years old and said he has a younger sister and brother. In New Jalozai the number of widows and orphans is extremely high. It is very hot here. I want to take off this outfit. I am offered a small paper cup of water. I don't ask for more. We drive out through a small mass of about 80 people who have gathered to watch us leave. Their faces red are from the heat. The mud houses are uniquely Afghan housing. They are cool in the summer and hot in the winter. A woman points out the window to a barren land - a tribal area border. "They make weapons there." SNI (Shelter Now International) This is the same NGO that had 24 people taken, accused of preaching Christianity. 16 local Afghans and 8 international aid workers. SNI runs the kitchen here. I saw the medical center, the vocation center, and the food distribution center. They also have a child-to-child group here where children teach children. I met Peter, an official in this refugee camp. He is Australian. He introduces me to the boys and girls. I also met Shaifullah, a ten year old boy with a beautiful face. It was clear and kind. I asked him a few questions. "Do you teach your brothers and sisters?" "Yes - family first." "Do you have a message for the world?" Before he answers he giggles and hides his smile under a cloth, to shy to answer. Then he looked up and said, "Peace in Afghanistan." WFP (World Food Program) is in this camp today distributing flour, lentils, and edible oil. They receive this once a month. I am in the medical office - the basic health unit for the camp. Polio days are from the 21st to the 23rd for all children under five years old. There are three teams in the field today. There are five basic health units here all funded by UNHCR. Vaccination materials are from UNICEF. Vocational Training Center Occupational training is offered, mainly for the disabled. Over each tented booth are signs: masonry, carpentry, shoe making, and tin smith. Two children are learning shoe making. Their father lost his arm from a landmine accident, so the children have to learn to support their family. I try to buy a pair of shoes, but they insist on giving them to me. Then I ask, "how much for a pair for my husband?" I want to buy something from them. They responded with, "No money will be exchanged between us here. We promote good will and humanitarian deeds. That is the payment." These programs are funded by UNHCR through JAMALLUDIN AFGHAN (a famous Afghan non-government organization). The time for the training courses is six months per person. We then go to meet women and children at the community center. The men traveling with us are not allowed in the room. Youth Club and Female Welfare Committee Inside. "Asalaamu Alaykum" Happiest I've seen them. Smiles. The women were calling me "Angelina Bibi". (Bibi is a respect word for a woman) They discuss family violence and talk about how to deal with it. They are learning about their human rights as women and children. One year ago they were living in plastic tents and having many more problems then they have today. They are doing much better. They make jokes. They worry because food distribution is sometimes late. "We become desperate because we are big families." I met two young mothers with their babies. One child was retarded. The other one was sick. Like most mothers around the world, they were very loving and sweet to their babies. Here with all that is happening they are very concerned for their families. They are scared. The sick baby has an itching rash. She has big brown eyes. She keeps staring at me. Her mother stands her up and shows me boils on her back from the heat. They told me about a six year old girl who was raped, suffocated, and then put in a latrine. Her mother did not want to tell the police for fear of having difficulties in the future. I asked this woman if she had a message for me to bring back to America. "We want peace in Afghanistan." Another woman I met told me her husband died of heat stroke. She also spoke very strongly at me - looking at me - It is translated. "What would you do if this happened to you? What would you do? Our life is finished. It is gone. But our children have no future - our children must have a future." I can't help but to start to cry. She then asked me to - "Please remember us and our families." I move on to a young girls' group. Four different girls give me a beaded pin, a hair band, and embroidery. It is a customary way to treat a guest. It is the Afghan culture. Like the others, this camp is also very hot. There is no electricity. The camp security is not very good. The girls are not learning vocational training - only basic skills women teach each other. They want to learn more. They are eager to learn more, but mostly they just sit and embroider, and sew, and make jewelry. (for no pay) They want jobs so they can buy more food for their families. They want to feel they are working to make things better. But before food distribution, housing programs, vocational training, and child care, there must be protection. UNHCR gives them the protection they need. Funding must be increased, and awareness must be higher. 3 PM We check into a local hotel. Mr. Ahmad, my security officer (gun man) insisted on going in first to inspect my room. He thoroughly looked around and he also looked out the window. "It's okay." Mr. Ahmad has been with me since my arrival. He keeps a polite distance most of the time, unless there is a need for protection. I don't understand or see what he sees when he looks around an area we are in. Yesterday in the middle of a market he suddenly rushed me back to the car. I never asked why. I don't question him. I know there is much I don't understand here. And much as an outsider, I am blind too. "If anyone knocks on your door do not answer it. Call me. I am in the room right across from you." We had dinner with the local UNHCR staff. A man in uniform with a gun opened the door. Everyone took their shoes off before entering the room. We all sat on pillows. Even with a small air conditioner and an extra fan, it was still very hot. They also tell me this is not one of their hotter days. Every so often I felt like I was going to pass out. It is easy to understand the deaths caused by heat. In the wintertime - in the plastic tents - many people (especially children) freeze to death over night. And during the hot days they can become like "ovens". To horrible to think about. 
Wednesday August 22nd 2001Up at 6:30 AM First stop - UNHCR Peshawar office for a briefing Nasir Bagh was set up in 1980 in the wake of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. It became a model refugee camp with clinics and schools. Hazarat Mariam High School, located within the camp, has the largest number of Afghan girl students in the world. 100,000 refugees live in the Nasir Bagh camp. The authorities began the demolition of the camp in June. 2/3 of the refugee population goes back twenty years. In the 1970s, Afghanistan became a focus of superpower rivalry. "In late December 1979, the Soviet Union, fearing the loss of an important ally on its southern border, invaded Afghanistan, triggering a massive exodus of refugees. Within weeks, 600,000 Afghans fled to Pakistan and Iran. Refugees continued to flee Afghanistan throughout the rest of the decade. By December 1990, UNHCR estimated that there were over 6.3 million Afghan refugees in neighbouring countries, including 3.3 million in Pakistan and three million in Iran. By this time, Afghans had come to constitute the largest refugee population in the world. " The State of the World's Refugees", UNHCR, 2000. In one of the large camps in this area, the day June 30th has been given as the eviction date for many refugees. Now after negotiations with the UNHCR, the Pakistani government has given until the 30th of September. To give time for screening. To try to save as many refugees from being deported and find a place for them. I notice stacks of papers each with a black and white passport size photo. Roy Herrmann shows me around. I am brought into different rooms. It is very early, but everyone seems very busy, and I don't want to waste a moment of their time. We are supposed to go to Quetta at 4 PM, but we are told to watch the weather. If it rains, there is a good chance we won't take off. The office is modest. The rooms are filled with files and books. There are fans but it is still very warm inside. There are one hundred applications per day, but only four or five a day can be processed. More help is needed here. There have been cutbacks and lack of funds to UNHCR. CENTER FOR STREET CHILDREN AND BEGGAR WOMEN Refugees in urban areas. UNHCR can only cover so many refugees in camps. So in urban areas there is no government support. NGO (non-government organizations) and local help is how urban areas are assisted. UNHCR does support a few of the NGOs. I see twenty kids on the floor, girls and boys mixed in different rows. This is not a formal school. It is to introduce them. There is another rooms of kids in a language class learning DARI. I am told by my interpreter, "They want to sing a song of welcoming for you." These children are so poor, and yet they smile and sing. Their faces are so serious, so focused on their songs. Some of the children have very serious visible scars. They all miss Afghanistan and want to go back. When the children came here they were malnourished - a lot of vitamin deficiency. There were fourteen year old boys who looked so much younger. They are learning carpentry and welding. They also want to be engravers and doctors. A teacher says, "High hopes." Nasir Bagh Camp These people will be forced to go out soon. UNHCR negotiated time for screening to pull out the most vulnerable before they are evicted. This community will be completely destabilized. The refugees at the screening center, over a hundred, are waiting outside. They are aware of their situation and they are getting restless. I keep my eyes down as I walk in, not because I feel threatened or uncomfortable as a woman, but because I feel helpless and ashamed. Many women want only women in the interview room. They seem desperate to be registered with their group, and want to be in the same convoy. They want to be together if they have to start over in a new area. "No one wants to be left on their own." School In Camp The kids are not here today. I met with four teachers, one man and three women. One of the women was holding a baby. She has been teaching here for eight years. So much work has been put into this camp over the years to become a community - however modest. There are maps on the walls for the children. In total there are twenty teachers at this school. There are three thousand students (1000 boys and 2000 girls). This is one of the largest schools for Afghan refugee girls. I ask their feelings about September (the month a large part of their camp is set to be demolished). Up to the last day, they say it is best to keep going to school. They will stay as long as they can. They are hoping to eventually set up "shift schools" to where the bulk of these refugees will be sent to when they are evacuated. The room we are sitting in now is in the area that is set to be demolished. HOUSE VISIT These women do not want to repatriate back to Afghanistan. They would not be allowed to be educated. Employment for women is also banned. Most of all, they are afraid of the Taliban - afraid for their families. I stand to the side and watch. How can I speak for these people? I know nothing of hunger and war. In the corner I see two small children making a carpet. A mother explains back home they would be in a nursery school. Can you imagine, being a parent, having to force your small children to work? They watch their children get sick in these camps from so much dust. They have allergies and serious coughs. They do want us to know they are very thankful to the Pakistani government for their hospitality. I met another woman with four small children. She works in the medical center for $40 a month. Soon this area will be destroyed. She does not want to go back to Afghanistan. She will no longer be allowed to work. The women invited us to stay for lunch. If we did, we would be taking part of their already limited rations. We said, "Thank you but we are on a schedule and unfortunately have no time for lunch." As we were slowly driving away, several little children gathered around the car. They wave and say "Bye, Bye!" One little one wipes the dust off the window to look through. She smiles at me. I put my hands up against the glass. She matches my hands finger for finger. I feel I should give them something, but I don't have enough of anything to give all of them. I do have three bracelets and a scarf, but as I am thinking that, I realize they are not looking or wanting me to give them anything. They seem happy to have a new visitor - someone who smiles at them and who is willing to play a little. As we left, the children ran alongside the car - running barefoot in the dirt and rocks. One girl falls. I look back. She is fine. A little boy is helping her. She is smiling. We drive to an area that has already begun to be demolished. All windows, doors, and wood boards have been removed. So far 1,042 families from this camp have been repatriated. There was intense pressure. Some were forced to go back. In this area, the poor Pakistani people will benefit when this land that they have shared is returned to them. For over twenty years they have been sharing this area - their home - with refugees. The international community should not expect them to share so much of the burden. It is very complicated, but simply, refugees and host countries are affected by war. Refugees are very grateful to host countries. I feel, we should help host countries not just to make refugee programs run well, but to also thank them, to acknowledge all the people living in the host country, and to show deep gratitude to them and their government. In regards to Pakistan it is complicated. Many feel they are responsible because the Taliban originated here. A man says to me, "It's like raising an alligator that grows up to eat you." We stop at a refugee camp cemetery. It seems to go on for miles. They are newly dug graves. I am told they are mostly children. Families fled to Pakistan carrying dead bodies to give them a burial here. Talking with the families I would ask how difficult it must be to be given the news of forced repatriation. These people built a new life, and now, they will have to tear down, move, and start over. I am told it is also very hard for UNHCR staff. They are often forced to rotate and not stay in one place too long. It is often emotionally hard to stay professional (objective). Sayyed Jamaluddin is an Afghan Welfare Organization Center funded by UNHCR for vocational training. They help train and look after about 400 refugees a year. As soon as we entered the area a man passed by using all four limbs to walk. He had shoes on his hands. He has extreme polio. The most vulnerable are the disabled. I don't know how they are working in this extreme heat. These people are amputees or paralyzed (men and women). People here work very hard, and what they make is amazing. Aside from "the movable library," they make shoes, window panes, and even stoves. After visiting for a while we are offered shade and a soda - Pepsi in glass bottles from a dusty crate. It was very generous of them to give us these Pepsis. We drink - not wanting to waste a drop. We visit a class of twelve year old boys who were illiterate but are now learning to read. Next, we see a roomful of girls practicing their beginning reading skills. It is so exciting to see these children being given access to an education. One woman said to us, "God bless you for all your help. Without it we would have tied hands." These woman are so strong. Their eyes smile through their veils. Haji, the man who has been showing us around said, "Thank you and God bless you for leaving your comfortable life to visit us and spend time with us." As we drive away, I notice more groups of women fully covered. The full body and head covered clothing, with several tiny holes over the eyes, is called a burquah. In Iran it is black. In Pakistan it is usually white. In Afghanistan it is usually blue. No one can make eye contact with each other. Children cannot see their mother's expressions. No individuality - no self - and it is very hot. I bought one and tried it on. I felt like I was in a cage. Horrible. Thursday August 23rd 2001 Up at 6:30 AM. Talk with Yusuf over coffee *About the frustrations *Lack of funding *Program for cutbacks We also discuss the shame and sadness of the misconception people have of refugees and the lack of want to have them in your community. We need to change the perception of refugees. They deserve respect. We must open up our eyes to the wonderful diversity in this world. People often confuse legal and/or illegal immigrants with refugees. From the UNHCR Dictionary: Definition of a REFUGEE: people who flee their country because of a well-founded fear of persecution for reasons of race, religion, nationality, political opinion or membership of a particular social group. A refugee either cannot return home, or is afraid to do so. Definition of a MIGRANT: people who leave their country to live in another country, often seeking more money and a better life for their children. Unlike refugees, migrants are free to return home whenever they wish because, although they may be very poor, their lives are not in danger. Quetta Briefing Fifteen Staff - Four International Veronique is from Nigeria. We went around the room introducing ourselves and explaining what we do. Six months ago I started to travel with UNHCR and began learning about refugees. "Man made misery" Afghanistan - Sierra Leone - Cambodia I look around this room full of tired faces. A women says, "We are all doing the best we can." She is from Africa and has been here helping for almost a year.v One of the women with us, Serena, has been working in this office since 1983. I am honored to know and work with the people of UNHCR. They are good people. They so desperately want to help all of the refugees but they are so under funded. With every cutback, so many people suffer. The reality is lives depend on every dollar to UNHCR. We drive one hour to a refugee camp called New Saranan. During the drive I see camels, elaborately decorated buses, barbed wire fences, and dusty people curled up in the only spots of shade they can find. I learn that as a people, Afghans are agriculturalists. They are enterprising, hard working people. They live in the middle of nowhere with practically nothing, and yet they find ways to be creative and artistic. In their little art market, donkey carts carry their work and sometimes also fruit. Inside the car, they reach over me to make sure my door is locked. I realize I hardly see any women anywhere. We pass the market. I can see new areas with refugees with no shelter in sight. There is also no shade and no water. I notice a little boy with a stick and two small goats. How are these people surviving? I see how little they live with. They make use of all that they do have. Everything is precious. I keep thinking of how much I waste at home and of how much more I have than what I need. (Water, food, clothes and so on). New Saranan Refugee Camp The camps in Pakistan are as if they are all one and the same. * a world built of dust * dirt roads * mud homes and tents The camp is seven to eight kilometers long. The only water source is seventeen kilometers away. When I stepped out of the car there was dust everywhere. I could feel it in my eyes and throat. We stop at the medical center. It consists of very small rooms with old tables and dusty carpets. They practice physiotherapy here. The main illnesses are polio, bone TB, burns, landmine injuries, bullet wounds, and trauma. Over 50% of the patients here are children under five years old. There is a room for women. Three women lie face to floor on old mats. They have no use of their legs. They try to lift up and stretch their backs for exercise. Outside - I meet an Afghan man with a white beard. His wife was blinded and his two sons were killed. Here at Saranan Camp there is no funding for training skills for the handicapped. Another man tells me his story. He lost one arm and an eye. Some people complain and say UNHCR should do more to help the refugees. This is hard for the staff to hear. These people simply don't understand the limited funds and cutbacks. "People can complain about us around the world, and governments can criticize our programs, but every day we continue to come face to face with hungry sick people who feel it is up to us to help them." How can I explain this? Maybe it's like a group of people in a car and starving war wounded people standing outside along side the car. A few people (UNHCR, humanitarian aid workers, etc.) get out of the car and give all they have, but it is not enough for everyone. And then the remaining starving people become difficult to deal with. Some people never even leave the car. They don't attempt to solve problems, can't solve the problems and don't want to be attacked. When things seem overwhelming, many people simply do nothing. We walk on through the camp - Two women are giving polio vaccinations. One baby is crying. Most of the little kids understand, and they are willingly stepping forward. It is such a simple vaccination - a few drops in the mouth. It is the difference of whether or not these children will have use of their limbs in the future. Without these agencies, these people would suffer even more in their lives from preventable diseases. 10 million children under the age of five die each year, the majority from preventable diseases and malnutrition. We visit a room where young women are studying. The men we are traveling with remain outside as we go in. The girls stand. They want to recite "A Poem For Education." You want to cry. To see these young women wanting so much to have a better life and a chance to learn. There is some math on the board that I can't solve. They bring us a soda - each a different kind - all that is available. I notice one of the small tin libraries on wheels in the corner. I ask them what they want to be when they grow up? Many of the girls have the same answer - a doctor. One girl says "If we work very hard we can." I ask what the most difficult thing about living in this camp is? "There are not enough jobs."(So strange to hear from girls so young) "We need water. Even with trucks. Still not enough water." I ask, "Do they want to go back to Afghanistan?" They all answer at the same time - "Yes." I ask "Why can't you go back now?" "They are fighting in our country." "We are not allowed to have an education there." An older woman comes in. She said, "Before the Taliban, women in big cities were able to get an education." She is so happy to see school rooms like this - even though they are in refugee camps. Some of these girls also teach the younger small children. The girls stand and smile sweetly as we say good-bye. We step out again into the dust. The heat is overwhelming. We are now in a crowded little room where several older women are learning. The room is about fifteen feet by eight feet. The walls are made of mud - the ceiling is made of twigs. There are little square holes for windows. These women are learning to write. A woman shows me she can write her name. She is so happy. "Now I can write a letter to my family." A small boy peeks in the windows. He has a haunting face. He watches us. I think, maybe his mother is here in the room. The women say that the best benefit of education is that they can share their knowledge with others. When family planning and safe sex is mentioned they become shy and smile and laugh. It is awkward for them. One of the women who is recently married, covers her face playfully when asked if she knows about these issues. They want to take a picture of themselves. "Can you send us a copy? We want our families to see us in school." It was wonderful talking with them. Once outside we stood for a few minutes against the shady side of the wall. Young boys and a few officers with rifles stand nearby. I haven't been able to write in about an hour. I am feeling nauseous. I need water. Maybe that will make me feel better. We drive to the next area. We are passing little old canvas tents, but it is so dusty, it is hard to see them. It looks like the end of the world - a forgotten place. How do these people live there? Another hour passes. We are in the mountains - curvy roads - nothing but dust and rocks. We pass a bus overcrowded with people. The air conditioner in our truck seems to be blowing hot air. I find myself daydreaming about my refrigerator and the cool breeze I feel when the sliding doors are open in my kitchen. I know that must sound stupid, but it's the truth. Your mind wanders in the heat. I have to focus on something else. It helps me from feeling sick. I think about what is happening to all these people here - so much overwhelming sadness. I feel helpless. This situation is Hell on Earth, but the people - the people are magic and inspiring. They work so hard to survive. We pass an area with a few mud houses and fruit trees - which is probably their only source of income. There are clear signs that every part of this land has been affected by the drought. We pass a truck full of cut down trees. They must sell the wood. "It will take seven years for those trees to grow again, and they will only grow when the drought ends." Unless these people receive financial aid, this will be another area of people with no future. We drive by a closed refugee camp - lack of resources. They were moved to another camp. We stop where the camp was torn down. I see a few families who have stayed and are living in the rubble. I see only women and children. Little barefooted boys run out to see us. They are so young and yet, they have a heavy sadness of struggle in their faces. They are all terribly thin and their tummies are slightly swollen. They play on a ground of nothing but sharp rocks and patches of cracked dry earth. We give them bottles of water from the ice box we carry with us on this journey. I thought it was silly when they put it on the small plane we were on. Now I understand. So much needs to be considered in places like this. We see a family of women walk over. This empty camp looks like the ruins of an old civilization. I ask one of the women, "Is it okay if we are here?" She answers, "Why not? God should bring more guests." One of the women is pregnant. She has blue tribal tattoos on her face and is wearing colorful jewelry. These women tell us they came from Afghanistan in 1979. I ask why? "Because of the war with Russia. We left our houses and irrigated land. Now - there is Taliban - we can't go back." They invite us into a little room where they lay out an old dusty quilt. I ask if there is a hospital nearby? They look at me like "How could that be?" I notice a little boy who looks very sad. He has torn clothes and big watery eyes. He is making such an effort to smile. I ask if they know about America? "Yes - our men tell us America helps us." I ask them if they have a message for America? "Why must we suffer?" "Why are we so desperate?" "We are grateful for America's help, but please - we need more food and water and we wish no more deaths." We ask if it is all right to take their picture? "No, our men will be upset." We understand. But they do ask us to please take a picture of the children. The little boy seems scared. "He has never seen a camera." We talk about the food shortage. "My family can only afford on bag a month. We are trying to teach our children to eat less." A woman explains her eleven year old son goes off to work for a month at a time - hard labor. Hard labor is $8.00 a month. Another boy has been away collecting wood for cooking. "We don't know if our sons are alive or dead." "We feel like we are in jail." "We are grateful for your visit." "We feel like our sisters and mothers have just visited us." "We thank you for visiting us and we will pray for you." I had about 3000 rupees on me. There are 60 to every dollar. I asked the UNHCR staff if it would be okay to give these women the rupees. "Yes, as long as we explain it is not from UNHCR, or they will expect cash will always be available in the future." "Agreed?" "Yes." They were so grateful. These people are living day to day. They give me some beads. They want me to come back. If I do come back - maybe in a year - will they still be alive? 4:30 UNHCR Field Office We had lunch. We were all very hungry. I don't know what I ate but I was glad to have it. Surkhab Refugee Camp Three armed officers in uniform are with us. Two are following us, and one is standing on the bed on the back of our truck. I don't want to ask why they are necessary, but I assume that this might be a dangerous area for the refugees too. The camps are close to the border of Afghanistan and are a higher risk. At the camp I met a group of women who have been living here for twenty years. "We came during the first war." "We got old here." They laid out mats for us to sit and have tea. Their little daughters came out and sat beside them. The women seem to enjoy making their embroidery. All the different pieces are beautiful. It takes them three months to work on each one. In America each piece would probably sell for hundreds of dollars. Here - if they're lucky and can get to a market to trade - it would be for very little. The women in this camp are not taught any other vocational skills, but they are asking and hoping for their children's future. One woman told me, "I am the third wife of my husband." In my ignorance, I did not realize that in this part of the world men can have many wives. They show us a little stream of water in the camp. They are grateful they can drink from it when supplies of water run out. I am told the stream is not a healthy water source, but the drought has them drinking from it because of lack of supplies. School is over. Boys come running out towards us. They see we are taking pictures and want to be in them. The boys were proud they knew some English. They all kept saying, "Thank you" and "You're welcome" and smiled a lot. They laughed when one of us accidentally stepped in the stream. We drive out as the sun is setting. The sky was clear and the sun was bright orange. It seemed so much bigger here than any sunset I have ever seen. I notice a sign on the little mud schoolhouse. On a very big painted board it reads (translated): UNITY DISCIPLINE FAITH 
Friday August 24th 2001Here everyone prays five times a day. We drive past many graveyards. There are branches with fabrics attached blowing lightly in the wind. There are a few tall white stones. I see a few women near a grave in the corner. I think of loss. I think of my family. I notice several goat herders. They carry branches. One boy is about ten years old. He is with about twelve goats. They have shaggy black hair. I notice a few people sleeping under blankets. Between twelve and two many sleep to avoid the hottest part of the day. LORALAI REFUGEE SETTLEMENT This morning we visit the Loralai. Inside we stop at the school run by SAVE THE CHILDREN. Painted on the walls is - WELCOME KNOWLEDGE IS POWER WE WANT PEACE ALL OVER THE WORLD There is also a map of Afghanistan painted colorfully on the wall. We visit with the girls first. They sit cross legged on the floor. The room is dusty. They don't care. They are happy to be in school. Their teacher asks them, "How many of you were born in this camp?" They all raise their hand. "We want to be in our homeland. This is not our place." They are learning PASHTO (their native language). In sixth grade only about one-fourth of the class are girls. The village puts pressure on them to get engaged. Only the sons work. One girl smiles at me and warms my heart. Another girl reads. Others sing a song. The song is translated for me. It is about reconstruction of Afghanistan - about unity for the different tribes. More of the song - translated - "In this critical moment how is our friend our enemy?" "You have come to visit us. You are our friend." "We want to bring greenness and happiness to our country." These young people need to have strength to rebuild. They need to be a force. The people running the school said, "We are glad you came to see us. We work hard and the children work hard. We would like to continue our program." They worry about the closing of the programs from lack of funding. A sweet little barefooted girl makes her way to the front of the room. She has a dusty scarf on her head, white with little brown flowers on it. She holds up an old thin notebook. She begins to read a poem. "We promise to work to learn. Learning is exciting. We don't want fighting. We want peace." One of the women we are with starts crying. An elderly man also cries. He has to turn towards the wall. Then I start crying. The woman said, "We want Afghanistan not divided in pieces. Please, please - peace." Young boys line up outside. They are wearing dusty plastic sandals. A little one walks in and goes up to the chalkboard to show us he can write. He writes his words in the direction of right to left. I ask him what he wants to be when grows up? "Mula" ("like a priest," someone says) Other children smile and say they want to be - "Teacher" "Doctor" "A Lawyer for Justice" (an 8 year old boy) "In the Government" They are also all sitting cross legged on mats on the dusty ground. They stood up, one at a time, as they answered. They are all smiling - so happy to be asked what they want to be when they grow up. I ask, "Where do you want to be to do all these things?" "Afghanistan" The teacher came up to me and handed me a piece of embroidery. She said, "One of the girls in grade five wants you to have it." The little girl's message to me was, "to thank our visitor." I went to say thank you. They were practicing reading and were very proud to show me. These girls want to know my name. They know nothing of my life. To them, I am someone who came here to observe and to help. They are so sweet to me. The man running the school said, "Please do not forget us." I feel we are close - no distance between us. We are all close. We stop to visit "the vulnerables." They are new arrivals but UNHCR must say "vulnerable." Three hundred families have been relocated here from Quetta. Now they will be living in an even poorer area. They will not be settled enough to send their kids to school. There is very little left here at this camp to give them. All stocks of items have been emptied. It is very hard on the staff when they do not have enough to give to all the refugees. WFP is already giving as much as it can. UNHCR is providing water from a water tanker and giving all the supplies they can. An elderly woman begins to walk with us. She shakes my hand very lightly - very gently. People here are not used to shaking hands. It is a new custom for them, but they make a thoughtful effort. Several men are busy trying to build some small mud houses. The women have no help getting wood for fuel, and there is not a tree in sight for miles. "How can we cook for our families? We have so little wheat flour, but we cannot even cook the little we have if there is no wood for fire. First we look to God and then to you people. We ask for help." These refugees originally came from Meymaneh. It is one of the most northern cities in Afghanistan. They came a very long way to get here. I asked, "How did you travel?" "Through deserts and mountains. Most of the journey we walk. A short part of the journey we travel on donkeys." The trip took them over six weeks. I asked a child, "When you lived in the city (Quetta) what did the children do during the day?" "Every day we would try to work in the market, but so many times we could not find work." A woman explained, "We faced a lot of harassment in Quetta. The police here in the camp do not harass us - so we are more peaceful. We ask only for a little food and assistance." As we drive out of the camp we see the water truck coming in. I notice that it was the truck parked in the back of where we slept last night. All the people are so happy to see the water truck - especially the children. They look like it's Christmas. This moment certainly puts life in perspective. Most people cannot pay 100 rupees per family per month for water - so they drink from the stream. They are getting sick. (Dysentery) Malnourished children with diarrhea often die. Without more financial assistance they are afraid they will not be able to run the water pump too long. We are shown how the pump works. Young boys stand off to the side and stare with serious faces. They have been listening to us talk. Suddenly the water starts. The boys run under the pump. We all smile and laugh. As I got back in the car I came to realize I am going to miss these people. I anticipated I would feel for the situation and care once I saw these faces. How could you not? But I did not know I would feel like if we had more time we would all be very close friends. Looking at each other there was such a shared understanding. We shared opinions, laughter, artwork, loving our husbands, and wanting a future for our children. Wanting to feel we have a purpose in this life. Our last stop is at the Basic Health Units. There are two in this camp. Each one is helping 10,000 refugees. There are only two doctors for both units. There are only two doctors for 20,000 refugees - one male doctor and one female doctor. The Basic Health Units are very well organized. They give monthly reports to UNHCR. The doctors here are very proud the children have all been vaccinated. The biggest health problems are dysentery in children, and during winter, there are many respiratory infections. The female doctor is speaking to a woman. When the woman sees us she quickly covers her face completely with her head scarf. Only one eye is exposed. We catch each other's gaze as the others are welcomed by the doctor. The woman grabs a burquah off the floor and puts it over her head. She suddenly is completely covered (body shape and face) by a large blue tent-like garment. It was like a blue sheet with small holes - many very tiny small holes over her eyes. I want to look at her through the holes, but I don't. I want to smile at her, but I don't know if it's appropriate. I do anyway. I can't see her face at all to see how she responds. I am told today is TB (Tuberculosis) Day. A woman and her brother are sitting outside waiting for results. A small white refrigerator is storing the vaccinations. "No electricity - it is running with a hose to a gas tank." A little girl with cerebral palsy is laying on a white sheet as her mother and a helper try to give her physical therapy. She is calm and quiet as they move her arms and legs. We drive back to Quetta. It takes us three hours. Suzy stopped to take pictures. I stepped outside. In the middle of nowhere - no shade - no shelter. I think about those women and children who walked in this scorching heat for almost two months. I can't understand how they survived - carrying all their worldly possessions - and with hardly any food. And how did they find water? I can't imagine what it must be like for some refugees when they arrive and are told they are not welcome in our borders or in our camps. Pakistan already has an estimated 2 million refugees. Many estimate it to be even higher. How good it must feel to find a group of people like these UNHCR field officers who welcome you and want to help you - who take time to listen to your story, and to register you and your family so you can begin to apply for assistance. Imagine being given food after nearly starving to death. No wonder these refugees are grateful for so little. During our three hour drive back we sat in silence as we traveled across the dry land. There was no radio. It was a long time for me to think. Urban Refugees In Quetta City There are three different types of Afghan refugees here in Pakistan. The first came here twenty years ago during the war with Russia. The second came in 1995/1996 when the Taliban took over. The third came because of the current fighting as well as because of the drought during the past three years. Here in Quetta City even the refugee children work. It is not that different from refugee camp life in the countryside. One difference is they can have access to a trade, but they have to pay rent and pay for education (unlike in the camps). Here, children are often kept out of school to work hard labor days. The Drop In Center is where for one hour street children can have an education. One hour is all they will give up taking time away from working. That is their focus. The center tries to give them incentives like bread and tea to get them to come in. This center was funded by OXFAM and SAVE THE CHILDREN. These children are taught numbers and basic literacy skills. They are also taught hygiene education - how to clean and take care of their bodies. "The children need to learn because many of them go around collecting garbage for work." "When they complete their basic learning, we provide tea and bread and a first aid kit." I met a little boy with big eyes and many cuts all over his dirty hands. He told me he works collecting rubbish, and he receives two rupees for one kilo of rubbish. Two rupees is the U.S. equivalent of two cents. ($1 = 63.95 rupees and 1 rupee = $0.0156372.) He is smiling and so innocent. He has no idea how unfair this situation is. I asked a few others if they also collect rubbish. Most of the children raise their hands. The other children work with their parents in the market. I asked one child, "Do you want to go back to Afghanistan?" "Yes, but it is never going to be free there." "Who wants to recite the ABCs?" They all raise their hands and try to be first. One little boy is chosen. He stands with his hands very politely behind his back. In a very sweet high little voice he begins, "ABCD..." I am crying. I can't do this. One more room to visit. I am standing near the entrance. I am not permitted to enter yet. I see a pile of little shoes. I walk in. They all smile. They are all so kind to a stranger. "Asalaamu Alaykum" Their story is the same. I think this is the hardest thing to see, to listen to them with their bruises, dirty torn clothes, cut fingers, and they smile at you. They are children. They still dream. They seem so full of hope, it breaks your heart. As we drive away from the camp, all the children run out, line up by a wall, and wave good-bye to us. While in the car, Zahida and I tried to discuss the programs and Convention on the Rights of the Child - but we were crying. We kept seeing more little children in the street collecting garbage. I have no words. Saturday August 25th 2001 We flew back to Islamabad. I feel like it was a month ago since we were here. I'm very tired. I meet Bernadette at the UNHCR office here. She is taking us to the first place. Bernadette used to work in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, and she had a message for me from Marie Noelle (who I was with in Cambodia). We spoke of our friend and Cambodia. [A few weeks after we said goodbye in Bangkok, Marie Noelle was suddenly given notice to be relocated. A few weeks later and she was working in the UNHCR office in Sri Lanka. I wonder how she's adjusting? Sudden relocation is common with UNCHR. It's one of the difficulties of their jobs.] It is a comforting feeling to be connected to each other around the world. To respect and appreciate other places and cultures together is very much the spirit of UNHCR and its staff. It is the essence of the meaning of the United Nations. AGA KHAN HEALTH SERVICES Dr. Javeed Akhtar Khan is the program officer. The staff is half professional and half volunteers. The volunteers work for "religious blessings." Everyone here has a common goal. They assist and try to heal many Afghan refugees living in urban areas. UNHCR hardly has enough funds to help the over one million in camps. They can't also help refugees in urban areas - anywhere from 700,000 to 2 million - impossible to count. There is also a small group of non-Afghan refugees. There are almost two thousand from Iraq, Iran and Somalia. The non-Afghan refugees in Pakistan number approximately 1,700 and they are from Somalia, Iraq, and Iran. They are based in the major cities and receive limited assistance from UNHCR. UNHCR provides them with subsistence allowances to meet basic needs for food, housing, health care and education, as well as legal aid and counseling regarding their status and other issues. UNHCR also seeks to identify durable solutions for them. We enter a room with about twenty five women. "Our children cannot go to school." "Many of our husbands and brothers cannot get jobs." "It is very hard to pay rent and school fees." How do they survive at all? Some of their fathers sell fruit, and many mothers work in Pakistani houses. "We don't know about our future." "There is no future for our children." "Ten people live in one room." I ask, "Any police harassment?" "Of course. Usually they are just trying to get some money from us." I am told they are always being asked to show their I.D. or passport. Even those with these documents still may have to pay. One man tells us a story of a friend who showed his passport to the police and the police tore it up in front of him. It was his only identification. "It is our fault we live here illegally. This is their country. So what can we do? We can't live in our country. We will die. So what do we do? I ask, "How do you explain the situation in Afghanistan?" "Terrifying." "What is your message for the world - for the international community - for the UN?" Suddenly they all start to speak. A woman translates. "We want peace. We want to continue our education. If we can go back to Afghanistan one day, then we can help our people." They have to charge women and children for their lessons. It is very hard for them to ask for money, but this is the only way they can run the schools. "Even if they can only pay a little, that is okay. We will still teach them." This woman is smiling at me and she speaks to me in a kind helpful voice trying to help me to understand. "The neighbors in this area don't want us here. We are always in danger." Another woman speaks up. "We have been here eight years. My children have had no education for eight years. They have no future." "The UN should help us. Please we need help. Otherwise it is impossible to live here." How do you explain to these women that there are not enough funds. The outside world only wants to help so much. A woman wants me to know that many people have come to talk to them, but they do not receive enough help. "But at least here in Pakistan we are alive. Although we have many difficulties, we are grateful to be alive." We visit the children. I meet an eight year old boy. His two front teeth are missing when he smiles. I ask him, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" "A doctor." "Do you work?" "Yes, I make carpets." He shows me a big cut on his finger. The children all stand up in unison. In their little voices they said "Good Afternoon Miss," and when I left "Good-bye Miss." These refugees have to study in different shifts between 7 AM to 10 PM. The adults study at night. I was invited to a community theatre where young children and teens performed a play about a boy who didn't want to go to school. He walked around the stage with a walkman on and had a very bad negative attitude. After a while all the other kids convince him how school can be cool. The play was both funny and serious and very well acted. Later on they had a music concert playing traditional and modern Afghan music. These artistic programs were specifically organized for the refugees. All the young people acting and dancing and singing were between the ages of three and seventeen years old. I realized not only how important these performances are for them, but also how they would not be able to have them in Afghanistan. All plays, movies, T.V., dance, and music are forbidden - These are all banned by the Taliban. I want to get a list of what The Koran actually teaches compared to the Taliban's interpretation of The Koran's religious laws and sacred teachings. I think that it is important for all of us to understand. Sunday August 26th 2001 I am on a plane now flying to Geneva. I am out - that is what it feels like. I met so many good people surviving in horrible living conditions. There were moments when I felt I escaped Hell. Now I have been pulled out and lifted up. I can't seem to think straight. It will take me a while to recover from this trip, and of course - I hope I never do. The mind wants to forget because it hurts and weighs so much on the heart and soul. I am tired of crying and feeling so helpless. I want to breathe again - just for a little while. Then I will do whatever I can to help these people. How could I not - once I met them - once I saw for myself. |